


Not Just A Pale Imitation

by telperion_15



Category: Primeval
Genre: F/F, Identity Issues, Mind Games, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/pseuds/telperion_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen doesn't like the changes in Jenny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Just A Pale Imitation

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the primeval_denial Femmeslash Challenge.

“It’s such a shame, you know…”  
  
The words are spoken just as Jenny emerges from the bathroom, and she jumps, mentally cursing herself for letting a frightened yelp escape her mouth.  
  
Despite her explorer-chic garb, Helen looks perfectly at home lounging on the bed in the rather expensive hotel room, and Jenny unconsciously pulls her dressing gown tighter around her body. Suddenly she feels at a disadvantage.  
  
To cover her confusion she gives Helen her best PR stare. She considers not rising to the woman’s bait, but knows Helen will garner just as much amusement from her refusal to ask as she would from the obvious question.  
  
So Jenny asks anyway. “What’s a shame?”  
  
“The way you’ve let yourself be so affected by her.”  
  
“By who?” But Jenny knows who they are talking about.  
  
“You used to be strong. Confident. You didn’t care what people thought about you, and you knew who you were.”  
  
“I do know who I am.”  
  
“No, you don’t. I despise people who can’t decide what they want to be one way or the other. Do you think my husband will like you better if you become more like her? Do you think you can’t be Jennifer Lewis just because _she_ once existed?”  
  
Jenny smiles slightly. “You almost sound like you care, Helen.”  
  
“I’m disgusted. Claudia Brown had her chance. Now it’s your turn, and what do you do? You waste it trying to become a poor imitation.”  
  
In one sinuous movement, Helen rises suddenly from the bed, stalking towards Jenny with all the grace of an experienced predator. “I liked you, Jenny Lewis,” she says softly. “You were my kind of woman. Now…now I don’t know what you are.”  
  
“I’m still Jenny Lewis!” Jenny snaps. She considers yelling for Nick, or Becker, but somehow the knowledge that this will only confirm Helen’s poor opinion of her stops the words from forming.  
  
Helen’s eyes flash, and a half-smile quirks her lips. “A little hint of fire,” she murmurs. “Still there, underneath. I wonder, is that all there is?”  
  
She’s closer now than Jenny’s comfortable with, but Jenny knows that stepping back would be a weakness dangerous to show in front of Helen. She can’t help the defensive crossing of her arms across her chest however, and Helen notices, a flicker of triumph crossing her face.  
  
“You really are like her in every detail,” Helen says in fascination, a solitary finger trailing down the side of Jenny’s face and along her jaw, caressing the hollow of her throat before coming to rest on the collarbone exposed by the open neckline of the dressing gown.  
  
Jenny feels her breath quickening and her heart starting to thud, signs that she can’t hide from Helen’s predator instincts. But strangely enough she doesn’t feel frightened. She feels…anticipation. She waits for what will happen next.  
  
Helen’s lips on hers are unexpected, and now she does try to pull away. But a second hand settles firmly on the back of her head, against hair still damp from her shower, holding her in place.  
  
Jenny would have imagined Helen’s kisses to be like everything else she does – confident, forceful, passionate. But instead she seems almost to explore, tasting Jenny and mapping her responses.  
  
And Jenny can’t help _but_ respond, particularly when the hand resting against her skin slides lower suddenly, beneath the flimsy fabric of the gown to cup her breast, a thumb gliding across a hardening nipple.  
  
She sighs then, silently against Helen’s lips, arching into the other woman’s touch almost unconsciously, despite the voice in her head telling her to struggle, to escape, to stop.  
  
“Will you push me away now?” Helen murmurs suddenly, her voice almost detached, as if commenting on an experiment. “Will you yell for help, and run back to Nick? I don’t think you will. I think you want to stay. I think you want to stay here and prove that you’re Jenny Lewis, and you’ll do what you damn well please.”  
  
And now there’s a hint of interest, a challenge almost, as she waits to see which way Jenny will leap.  
  
 _This is madness_ , Jenny thinks, and she knows she should just disappoint Helen and go to Nick. But somehow she doesn’t want to. Against all reason, she does want to stay and prove she’s Jenny Lewis, and not just some pale imitation.  
  
She doesn’t say the words, but the barest movement of her body, the slightest press into Helen’s touch, is all the other woman needs, and in a flash she’s turned them around and brought them down on to the bed.  
  
Deft fingers are working at the belt of the dressing gown, and then it is pushed aside. Jenny is naked underneath, and suddenly she feels very exposed next to Helen’s still clothed form. But she won’t ask. That would make this more than it is. More than she wants it to be.  
  
A hand caresses her breast again, this time pinching her nipple hard enough to make Jenny gasp. But Helen, it seems, is not interested in foreplay, and that same hand immediately slides down her body, fingers delving between her instinctively parted thighs.  
  
Helen makes a sound of approval at finding Jenny wet and wanting, and another at Jenny’s surprised exclamation when one finger starts stroking her clit firmly, with no teasing, no hesitation, just determination.  
  
It feels good. It feels _beyond_ good, and Jenny suddenly realises how long it’s been since someone else touching her has had this effect. Her fiancé had been a boring, if enthusiastic, lover, and since then she’d only had her fantasies and herself to keep her satisfied.  
  
She feels herself approaching the edge, and keens in disappointment when Helen suddenly stops, leaving her trembling and unfulfilled.  
  
“I wonder how far you’d let me go?” Helen muses, although the words are almost lost to Jenny through a haze of need.  
  
She watches helplessly as Helen shifts position, pushing her legs further apart to lie between them, and Jenny finds the sight more arousing than anything that has gone before. Somehow she’d never considered Helen doing this. It seems a submissive position for someone so hell bent on being in control all the time.  
  
But as Helen cocks an eyebrow at her, her lips curving upwards wolfishly, Jenny suddenly reconsiders. Helen is _still_ in control here. She will do whatever she wants and Jenny won’t be able to stop her.  
  
Then the thought is lost as Helen pushes her tongue against her, lapping as firmly as her fingers had pressed moments before, and Jenny knows it won’t be long – she can feel the inexorable swell of her climax, and the rise of her hips as she chases it.  
  
Helen pushing two fingers into her willing body is all it takes, and suddenly Jenny is coming with a breathless cry, her eyes fluttering closed as she feels pleasure dancing over her skin.  
  
She knows Helen will be watching her with something like triumph, but she can’t bring herself to care as she tries to remember how to breathe, her chest heaving as she gulps down air. She can feel reaction hovering at the edges of her consciousness, reason that will soon force her to regret what has occurred.  
  
But right now she is sated, still shivering with the aftershocks, and she doesn’t open her eyes as she feels Helen rise from the bed.  
  
“Well…” And that seems to be all Helen has to say on the matter, until the moment when Jenny knows she is standing by the open door of the hotel room, ready to disappear once more. The words seem appropriate, and Jenny senses Helen’s approval once more as she speaks them.  
  
“Good-bye, Jenny Lewis.”


End file.
